The Nightmare King's Shadow
by Nagasha
Summary: On the behalf of Death herself, Pitch comes to find the man who has lived fifty years beyond his time, and has been striking up fear in himself rather than in Pitch. What he finds, however, is a cowering fool and the young frost spirit with runes scarred into his skin and eyes pleading him to end it all. Pitch is not pleased, to say the least. Kink meme fill!
1. Chapter 1

The Nightmare King's Shadow.

Chapter One: The Demon

Jack was known, both in his life as a spirit and (although he didn't know it) in his life as a human, as a boy without fear. And it was true; things that would terrify most mortal men- jumping off of cliffs into the wind, standing in the path of an avalanche, flying through the center of a snow storm- were things that he did every day.

However, as the darkened shadow that is the Boogeyman would tell you, fear can be a good thing. Fear can teach you to avoid dangers, to back away from the cliff and to stay clear of the avalanche zone. Of course, most of these dangers cannot affect Jack, for he is the immortal embodiment of winter and thus invulnerable to many things that can harm normal children.

Most. And most can only cover so much, can't it? Besides, there are things that only spirits have problems with. Such as wizards and their pesky habits of summoning forces beyond their control.

But even that is not much of a problem. After all, breaking their runic circles is easier than the foolish mortals believe, and most Immortals can tell what it means to be summoned.

Most, it seems, is a word that does not describe Jack Frost.

The wizard rose up slowly from his crouching position, back sore from hours spent agonizing over the runes meant to trap the demon as it was summoned. It was crucial that all of the runes were placed properly, lest the demon escape and ensnare his spirit in it's icy grip. It was a harrowing thing, summoning spirits as powerful as this, but it must be done.

Seeing that the runes were perfect, the wizard moved on to the next step in his preparation. Six candles, light blue in color, were placed as to make the points of a hexagon, as if it were the honeycomb of a bee. With hands slightly trembling, they were lit, the flames burning blue although cold to the touch. Outside the circle, the wizard stood, reciting the chant memorized long ago, in a language long sense dead. Eventually, the eldritch words gave way to simpler ones, although no less harmless. After all, the spirit he wishes to invoke is young, as far as spirits go, and wouldn't be able to appreciate the dialect, if it could comprehend it at all.

The wizard called out. _"Awaken, oh ye spirit of winter, bringer of chill and ice! Rise up and do my bidding, demon of the snow! Jokul Frosti, I summon thee!"_

And with a strong gust of wind and the cold crackle of breaking ice, the circle was filled with… a youth, barely on the cusp of adulthood. The wizard was confused but only for a moment before realization dawned on him. Ah, so the demon took the guise of a child, but the wizard would not be fooled by such silly tricks. It's disguise was incomplete, with unearthly pale skin, hair as white as the snow it commanded and no shoes upon the feet. Did it think of him as a simpleton?

The demon was looking around now, fake curiosity and showing in it's ice-blue eyes. "Whoa," it muttered, and even if the rest of it's disguise was believable, the voice would have ruined any credibility it had as a child. It was far too deep, too smooth, to flow out of a youth's mouth. "Where am I?"

Well, if the demon wished to play at being a child, then who was he not to take advantage. "Why, dear boy, you are in my cabin." His tone was fatherly, almost a little playful, as though the being in front of his was an actual human and not a monster playing pretend.

The demon's eyes widened, and focused directly on him in amazement. At once, the wizard felt a little uncomfortable. It was only a guise of course, but the emotions on the spirit's stolen face were a little too real.

Suddenly, it struck him. Just because it was not the demon's body doesn't mean that it wasn't somebody's body. He heard tale of a boy once, who fell through the frozen surface of a lake and whose body had never been found. Perhaps he had found it? After all, what's to stop the demon from taking possession of a body after the soul has left it's mortal coil?

The wizard smiled softly at the demon as something inside clenched. How _dare_ this monster try to trick him using the remains of a father's lost son? Perhaps it was god's will then, to have the thing here where it can be used as a tool of justice against the man who stole his son from him.

"You can see me?" The creature asked, eyes alight with a childlike glee that was not it's own. And for his part, the wizard acted on emotions that were not his as well, forcing his features to look upon this demon as if he was nothing more than an unexpected guest. "Why, of course I can? Why wouldn't I be able to?"

Was the monster invisible as well as a thief of the dead?

The false-child's shoulders sagged, as it pretended that a creature such as itself could feel sadness. "It's just… everybody before you, they…"

It clutched at it's stomach, hugging itself tightly before whispering. "They all just walk _through _me, and it hurts, and why can't anybody _believe_ inme?"

If this being was in truth a child, then the wizard might have felt some feelings of pity towards it. But as it were, all that he saw was an opportunity. "Dear child, what would you say if I told you I could make people believe in you?"

The demon raised it's head, the tears that were not it's own pouring down it's cheeks. "R-really?" It's unnatural voice hitched as it asked, an obvious ploy to play at his emotions.

It utterly failed as the wizard smiled sweetly at the demon, all while reaching into his pouch for some sleeping powder. "Of course."

The demon awoke midst preparations, although thankfully the bindings on it's powers were already in place. It looked around confused, as well it should be. It had gone from being upright within the circle to being tied down to the stone slab, stripped into nothing and unable to move all but it's face. It looked increasingly uncomfortable as well, likely from the forge it was nearby. Hopefully it's mortal disguise didn't sweat, lest the ink of the runes be spoiled and it's havoc unleashed upon him. It was only a temporary solution, anyway. The real ritual was about to commence.

"I see you awoke, demon." He emphasized the last word to prove he knew the spirit's true nature. "I had hoped to have gotten farther along with the process, but I suppose your demonic abilities prevented the powder from taking full hold, in spite of your mortal form. At least I managed to get most of the temporary bindings set up."

He paused to make a marking near the demon's head, tut-tuting as he saw it's mouth move uselessly. "Don't try to talk. I've already put bindings on your vocals so I wouldn't have to hear any of your lies."

He ignored all of the demon's silent pleas as he finished painting with the ink. After putting the small brush back within the inkpot, he removed the metal rod from the forge, and with his magic caused the thin metal top to bend around into the form of the rune for control. Almost cheerfully, he approached the demon, whose eyes were wide and filled with tears; as if he would take pity on it and let it go just for a few crocodile tears.

"In all honesty, I'm almost glad that you awoke for this. I'm not quite certain if a demon could even feel pain, but if anything could harm you this would." His eyes flashed dangerously as he held the heated rod above the demon's bare chest. "You should not have taken the form of the child who drowned in a lake in front of a father who lost his only son."

He continued, eyes right on the demon's stolen face as fear spread across it. "Despite your evil nature, you should be happy with what I am about to do. Be thankful I am kind enough to grant you your wish, be it true or just lies woven to ensnare a man's sensibilities with the use of guilt and pity. You shall have your name known by some certain people, Jokul Frosti. They will know you as the being who dealt them the final blow on my behalf, an angel of justice punishing the wicked. Oh yes, they will know you as the killer of killers."

And with that, he thrust the metal against the demon's chest, all in the name of his dead son.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow! I'm amazed by the reception I got for this story! Sorry for not posting before, but I hope it's worth the wait!**

Chapter two: A Date with Death

A summons from Death Herself was something not to be ignored. After all, even though the Man in the Moon was the one who gave them life, many spirits were there solely because She let them go. That kind of power left quite a few of the more powerful beings in Her debt.

Pitch was not one of those beings, but when the coal colored crow swooped into his lair, black envelope in it's beak, the Nightmare King knew he must answer Her call, if only to find out why She summoned _him_ of all spirits.

The simplicity of the letter was startling. True, the black paper with its elaborate shining silver cursive writing was stunning, but to somebody who knows of Death, the fact that it wasn't so much… _more_ hinted that the situation, whatever that may be, was much more urgent then the letter stated.

Pitch bade his Nightmares to continue operations without him, mentally preparing himself for the panic they felt towards that. Yes, he was going to be gone for the night. No, he wasn't in any danger, he was just visiting Death. Of course that wasn't dangerous! Death was smart enough not to upset the balance by trying to take out fear. No, he didn't need any of them to go with him for protection, he would be just fine!

It was some time later after he convinced them that he would be just fine and would you please stop trying to bite at his ankles, yes you Choppers, I know you specialize in nipping the toes of small children to frighten them out of getting a glass of water, but is that really the proper response right now? The answer is _no_, Choppers. Bad Nightmare. No biting your master. Go to your stable and think about what you did.

Needless to say, Pitch arrived at Death's Door much later then he intended.

Pitch could appreciate the architecture of Death's palace, mostly because it was similar, although not the same, to his own lair. Although while his home had a grainy, abandoned look to it, Death's dominion seemed as though nobody had ever inhabited it at all. Obsidian pillars and glossy dark marble floors gave the impression that the whole castle was made of darkness. In short, it felt almost like home.

It was with that attitude that he strolled right through the black marble halls towards the throne room with an ease that only one fully comfortable in their surrounds can have. He had no reason to be afraid of Death, and to show fear towards Her would not only be insulting towards Her, but to himself as well. After all, why would the king of fear be afraid of something as base and necessary as Death?

For his confidence, Death gave him a wry smile while lounging within Her overly-elaborate throne. The top half of Her face was shrouded in shadow, while the rest of Her face was an almost metallic black, as though She was cut from the same material as Her home. Her ivory lips curls upwards into a smirk. "Pitch Black," She drawled, stretching and letting Her cloak fall backwards, to reveal a simple, although quite low-cut, silvery dress and bodice, leaving Her ebony arms and shoulders uncovered to a degree which would make a lesser man blush. But Pitch Black was no lesser man.

"Death," he nodded in response, carefully focusing on Her face and not… _other_ areas. Death's smirk widened as She rested Her elbow on the arm of the throne, fist against Her cheek. Pitch had a feeling that he just passed some unknown test. "Well, now that we've gotten the introductions out of the way, as meager as they were, you probably want to know why I asked you here."

She made no effort into making it a question, and so he didn't take it as one. "I was curious as to why I was chosen, rather than any of the spirits you have in your debt." His tone was polite, friendly even, but with an undertone of warning, an unspoken statement of "_you better have a good reason for asking me here" _filling his words.

Death sighed, silver tipped nails tapping the dark metal of the throne. "Why is everybody so impatient? What will be, will be. There's no need to rush anything." Still, She straightened up some, head tilted in the direction of Pitch. "You're the best person for what I need done. Besides, then I'll owe you a favor. Why wouldn't you want that?"

Considering that Death paid back Her favors by doing something that seemed utterly random and at times counterproductive to the favored's wellbeing, there was a very good reason why Pitch wouldn't want that. Granted, She always said it was for the person's own good, but beings like Death didn't always see things the same way other spirits do.

Still, having Death on your side is infinitely better than having Her against you, and so Pitch gave Her a minuet bow and said "You haven't even told me what you want done. Why don't you tell me, and I'll be the judge?"

Death's smirk widened into an all-out grin. "Why, Mr. Black, you certainly know how to make a girl feel special!" The grin faded as She leaned forward towards him. "Here's the deal. Fifty years ago, a man was supposed to die from an attempt at summoning forces beyond his understanding. But he didn't."

She continued, voice as grim as one of Her omens. "Thing is, when somebody lives longer then they should, they're literally living on borrowed breath. Every day they live is a day stolen from a babe born."

Pitch felt as though somebody had stolen his own breath. Somebody dared do this to a child? He was no Guardian, he would admit to it himself, but to shorten a child's life just to extend your own! It was despicable!

"Easy there, big fella." Death warned, although not moving from Her throne. "He doesn't know about that part of the equation. But that's not all that's wrong about this whole mess."

Pitch straightened up, his insides revolting at what this man had done, even if he was unaware of the consequences. "And what," he asked, voice shaking more than he would have liked, "is so bad as to overshadow the fact that he is stealing a child's life just by breathing?"

"Not saying it's worse, because the thing you just mentioned really sucks and messes up my schedule something fierce-" Death raised Her hands up in a pacifying gesture as Pitch snarled at her "-hey, you didn't let me finish! It's not worse, but it's still a big deal. His mind is deteriorating, even if his body isn't. And trust me, that's a bad thing."

"Worse than the children losing their lives because of him?" Pitch growled. Behind Her hood, Death rolled Her eyes. "Dear deity of your choice, would you get over that? The conversation has moved on past that. Be a big boy and move with it."

Pitch resisted the urge to glare at Her. This was Death, even if he forgot it in his anger, and it would not be a good idea to enrage Her. "My apologies," he gritted out. "Please, continue."

Death leaned back, looking smug. "Thank you kindly. As I was saying, his brain is rotting ahead of his body, and with it goes morality, decency, the ability to actually act like a decent person, etc. Basically, he's going loco in the coco. Add that to the fact that he's a wizard whose dealings with otherworldly forces gave him a severe power upgrade, and that is not good for business."

"And why do you want me to deal with this?" Pitch asked, feeling annoyed and drained. Why was this any of his business?

Death looked solemn, but there seemed to be a strange sort of energy balled up tightly inside Her, just waiting to be unleashed. Pitch felt like an insect caught in a spider's web. "He's calling himself the King of Fear." She said flatly, as though that was all that needed to be said. And in truth, it was.

Pitch exploded into a ball of shadowy fury, all thoughts of not wanting to anger Death flying straight out of his head. Shadows trailed up the already darkened walls while he spoke with the voice of legion. **"How dare he?!** **_I am the King of Fear!"_**

Death sat back, looking unfazed by his performance. "Yeah, well nobody told him that. So," She shrugged, "what are you going to do about it?"

Pitch regained himself, the shadows sinking back within him. Only the voice showed how truly enraged he was. **"And where would I find this mortal?"**

"There's a hut outside the town of Burgess. You wouldn't miss it, it's about half a mile from a frozen lake and the wind is constantly trying to blow it down." Death wondered, as She watched the irate Nightmare King stalk out of her throne room, if She should tell him that he left his scary, Fearling voice on. She leaned back, a satisfied smirk on her face. "Nah, he'll probably keep it on anyway."

It was some time later- if time had any meaning in Her lands, that is- when Death's second guest arrived. Upon her arrival, Death broke out into a full fledged grin. "Hey there, baby mama! Long time no see! Well, it would've been if time actually meant something to me. Still, good to see you."

Mother Nature nodded her head in greeting, then took the chair that formed directly opposite of the throne, a large table suddenly between the two, with a tray of tea in the middle. "Morticia."

And just like that, a switch was flipped, and Death went from a She to a she. "Really is good to see you, especially since I saw your father not too long ago."

Seraphina Pitchner stilled, teacup halfway raised to her mouth. Seeing this, Morticia was quick to sooth. "He was still Pitch, false alarm on that part, but don't worry: I have a plan."

Mother Nature put down the teacup, the contents untouched. Her lip curved downwards, the face of somebody who tried making lemonade from the lemons life had gifted them, only to discover the results even more sour than before. Finally, she said. "Will this be like the time you had the plan to gift-wrap Pandora's Box, or when you, the Man in the Moon, and I engaged in a series of competitions over one particularly sought after spirit?"

Morticia raised her hands in protest. "Hey, I didn't cheat! I'm just really that good at games."

"You have not yet returned my dress."

"I like that dress."

"We don't even have the same proportions!"

"Hey, you wanted me to have more color around here. Just following orders."

"I meant get a rug, maybe some flowers to brighten things up."

"Yeah, honey? I'm _Death_. It's not supposed to be all bright and sunny here."

"Hmph." Mother Nature crossed her arms. "Whatever your plan is, it's not going to work."

Death just smiled, dunking her biscotti into her tea.

**Credit where credit is due, the conversation between Mother Nature and Death is a refrence to Games of the Gods by Dorksidefiker on both Archive of our own, and the kinkmeme. Go check it out!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow, I wasn't expecting so much positive feedback. Ironically, I wrote most of this when we got a snow day in the middle of march. (First in two years here!) Guess Jack wanted me to have one last snow day before my birthday (OMG, I'M TURNING 18 IN 5 DAYS!). As such, have some tortured flesh-puppet Jack!**

Chapter three: Meeting the Magician

For Pitch, the first sign of how wrong things were was when he arrived at the foolish mortal's cheaply-built wooden house, only to find the wind furiously blowing against it, as it were trying to blow the house to the ground and carry away something inside. However, as he approached, the wind backed down to allow him access, as if it had known what he had come there to do. How odd.

What did this wizard do to get the wind itself so mad at him?

It didn't matter, Pitch decided as he entered the 'humble' abode. All that mattered was what the wizard did to get him, **_the King of Fear_**, so enraged.

Pitch drew the shadows from the walls and wrapped them around himself like a cloak. Around him, fearlings peered out of the void the shadows left, glowing eyes hungry for the fear emanating from the very constructs of this cabin. "**_Wizard Abaddon, for your crimes against the world's children and the lady Death, I will punish- _**who are you?"

The person he was referring to was the young boy standing in front of him, fourteen at the most, dressed in dull grey robes and holding a wooden staff like a Sheppard's hook. Was he an apprentice? He didn't answer the question, only staring ahead as still as a statue. Pitch would be surprised if the boy was even breathing. In fact, the deathly paleness of the boy's skin brought into question whether or not he was still alive.

It was only looking closely at the boy's neck that Pitch's questions were answered. There was a rune there, scarred a pallid white to match the boy's skin with the edges around looking as though it had been burned. It took a moment, but his mind made the connection. That was the rune for silence.

Pitch released the shadows- the fearlings giving an almost audible whine, not happy with the separation from their prey, but he silenced them. He walked forward towards the boy, and knelt down so that they were on the same eye level.

"What happened to you?" He whispered, the words almost drowned out by the wind bellowing outside. The boy didn't respond physically, but he looked upwards, to where his white bangs covered his forehead.

Pitch brushed the hair to the side, and was staring right at another rune painfully burned in, especially for a winter spirit- for could this boy be anything else, with skin as cold and as pale as ice?- this one for control.

Suddenly, it all made sense, and he cursed Death for Her vagueness. 'Summoning forces beyond his understanding?' It seemed that he understood the forces just fine- he found a young spirit, and somehow forced or tricked him into a ritual binding.

**"How dare he? ****_HOW DARE HE?!"_** Instantly, the shadows formed themselves around him again as he rose up, the darkness creeping up the walls rife with fearlings peeking through with curiosity and delight. Their master was here. Their master was there, and he brought them such a tasty snack!

Of course, the ruckus was such that nobody, not even a wizard fifty years past his prime who spent those years tuning out the whirling winds desperate for their child back, could sleep through. He ran into the main room is his nightgown to see a darkened demon from the gates of hell standing over his restrained spirit, shadows filled with his wickedly grinning imps.

The wizard did the only thing sensible for a man of his skill and age; he dived behind a table and called out. "Jokul Frosti! Protect thy master!"

The boy moved robotically forward, lurching like a puppet on strings as he pointed the staff's head forward. Pitch shifted to the side, the jagged burst of ice threatened to take off his head if he hadn't.

So, this was the great wizard's power. Ordering a young spirit to fight all his battles for him. Well, perhaps that worked upon the mere mortals, but now he was facing against someone with more power than his little puppet. He was facing Pitch Black, the Nightmare King!

A wave of the hand, and the boy was forced onto his back by the shadowy tendrils pushing him down, wrapping around his body and preventing him from moving- although Pitch made certain not to touch any of the key points where more runes might be hiding. The boy had suffered enough.

He summoned a scythe out of the corrupted dreamsand carefully stolen under the Sandman's nose throughout the years- a grain here or a pinch there can really add up- and the boy's eyes widened, then closed tight, coming to the false conclusion that HE was the one about to be punished.

Pitch knelt back down again, and forced the boy's eyes open. "Now then, none of that. You wouldn't want to miss what I have to show you."

He carefully moved the boy's head so that he was looking at the cowering wizard, and satisfied that he would keep his eyes open, Pitch stood up, gliding over to the overturned table.

He raised the scythe over the wizard's head. **_"I came because of the life you were stealing from the children, simply by existing. I came here ENRAGED because you dared to call yourself the King of Fear, when I am truly the one who has earned that title. But, this? This is because you DARED commit such a foul act upon a child, immortal or otherwise. This was originally a task I had taken because I had a duty given to me by Death, but now? Now I'm going to ENJOY this." _**

The scythe fell.

"Oy, you. Get up." The command was followed by a kick to his stomach from an incredibly pointed shoe. He winced, and opened his eyes. His vision consisted of a material smoother than silk, in crisp ebony. His line of sight widened as he was forced upwards by two invisible hands pulling at his dressing robes.

There was a woman with lustrous black skin, worse even than all descriptions of the monstrous beings that live in Africa. Her dress was seductive and framed a beautiful figure in spite of the rocklike skin. Was it a succubus?

As if it could hear his thoughts, it laughed. "Oh, now aren't you cute? Honey, no succubus would ever want a monster like _you_."

A monster, him? That's absurd! He was a vanquisher of sin, destroyer of scum-

"Enslaver of innocent spirits, murderer of those you don't like, life-stealer of small children… the list goes on." The monstrous woman gave a wicked smile, teeth shining in the darkness. "There are only two times I can interfere in a human's life, y'know. The day they die, for pretty obvious reasons… and after they're dead, for equally obvious reasons. You're expiration date was _supposed_ to be the day you summoned Jokul Frosti, demonic spirit of winter who proceeds to rip you into many, many, many pieces, then proceeds to freeze them… only that didn't happen."

"Yes!" He screamed, struggling in invisible bonds to no avail. "Because I would not fall for that demon's trickery!"

The hideously lovely woman stared at him impassively through veiled eyes, and then calmly slapped him. It was like being slapped by a slab of stone. "Hey, crazy guy. I'm talkin' here. That means you shut up now, okay?"

He opened his mouth to protest, only to find himself incapable of speech. Who was this woman?

"Hmm… well, you just died, and I was talking about how I only appear when people die, so I guess that makes me, oh, I dunno… Death? Geez, for all your arcane knowledge, you wizarding folks are kinda stupid. Give me a witch any day of the week. It's not a gender thing, mind you, warlocks are just as fun as witches are, but you wizards are just plain idiots. You know, all 'I'm the lord of death because I found and exploited a loophole,' or I'm 'king of the purebloods despite my dad being nonmagic'. Ugh, I swear, for every decent wizard there's at least ten dumb ones out there."

Ugh, was this his afterlife? To listen to this woman torture him with endless prattle for all of eternity?

This was the wrong thing to think, as Death started to cackle. "Oh, you think that's torture? Let me tell you something, buster." She leaned in close.

"You were supposed to die that day, but you didn't. Not because of your skill, but because of your stupidity. You messed up that ritual, bro! Said some mispronunciations, and ended up summoning an entirely different spirit of winter.

"Not that Jack- that's his name, Jack Frost. - isn't powerful. Oh no, that kid's got some serious punch behind him. Then again, you already know that, seeing as how you used him as a weapon all those years. And do ya wanna know why he's so powerful?" Death didn't wait for him to respond before she continued.

"Jack's powerful because he was created by three different major players in this game of spirits. The Man in the Moon gave him his blessing and his destiny- yeah, yeah, I know it sounds silly, but Manny's a big hotshot when it comes to this stuff. Mother Nature gave him his element- and it might be a good thing I got you before she found out, that girl's been looking for her Sheppard of winter for years now. But me? Well… I gave him the most important attribute.

"I gave him back his life." Death looked nostalgic. "Yeah, the three of us fought over him for a while- played a bunch of crazy games over his fate; I ended up winning Mother Nature's dress in a game of strip poker… good times.- but I was gonna let Manny win eventually because I liked his plans. I mean, yeah, it'd suck for the kid for a while, but it'll all turn out all right in the end.

"But then," Her voice turned dark, and he felt a sense of foreboding deep in his bones. "_You _happened. You butted in, and ruined the fun by taking the prize for your very own!"

She glared at him, and pulled him close, whispering dangerously. "And even worse, you threw off my schedule." She pushed him back, leaving him swinging in the air. "Do you know how many people died because of you? Or worse, how many _didn't_?

"I'm pretty pissed at you right now." She stated, Her voice abnormally husky and deep. "And I don't really function that well when I'm pissed; it always ends with too many unnecessary bodies just lying about, makes for a pretty unsightly looking landscape.

"So what I'm going to do is, I'm going to just leave you here while I cool my head, and when what you did doesn't fill me with rage, I'm going to come back and punish you." She turned on Her heel and started walking. Just before She left, She flashed him an ivory smirk.

He didn't think She'd be coming back for a long, long time.

**Next Chapter: Pitch sees how far the damage has gone, a tearful reunion with an old friend, and, back by popular demand... CHOMPERS!**


End file.
